


the answer

by tinysmallest



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Bisexual Greg, F/M, IT'S MY STORY AND I SAY BI GREG RIGHTS, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinysmallest/pseuds/tinysmallest
Summary: You gave up everything you'd aspired to be for her, everything you had escaped your parents to be, everything you had put up with Marty so long to achieve, but you didn't bother questioning why.You already knew why, because it was right in front of you.
Relationships: Rose Quartz/Greg Universe
Comments: 22
Kudos: 21





	the answer

**Author's Note:**

> Hands up who wants to feel _soft?_
> 
> Also there is the lightest description of sex here. No explicit details, but rating this one gen was not appropriate.

Love was a heartbeat beneath your head (that wasn't even supposed to be there but she did it anyway, just for you, just to make you happy) and safe arms and careful touches and words.

Love was realizing a smile had stolen your face because one of her favorite songs came on while you were at work, and affection for no reason, and the brightness of the flowers she brought you because you brought her flowers a week before and "W-well- shouldn't I do it too?"

Love was the gentle feel of sunlight on your face in the early morning that you only felt because she'd just come back from a mission and you wanted to be there to welcome her, and when she warped in it was with a big, shiny rock she found just for you.

Love was what you put into every song but especially the ones inspired by her. You wanted her to feel it. You hoped so badly she would feel the same feelings you did when she did things for you, because it was the most wonderful feeling in the world and she deserved it; she deserved that _so much_ it made your heart ache to think about it.

Love was the color of her hair, draped around you as a protective, accidental blanket as you both laid on your stomachs in front of the TV, pressed up together. Her curls fell over your eyes and tickled your nose and you didn't care at all.

Love was the long conversations, grass or sand between your toes, listening to her talk about her worries, her fears. You figured she might be holding back but you didn't press. Love was making sure she knew you were there for her whenever she was ready.

Love was how she saw your gaze drawn to a cute young man with the prettiest blonde hair you'd ever seen and when she saw the rising panic in your face at you taking notice of her watching you, hurried to assure you she was not jealous. People are pretty, she proclaimed.

You hadn't even thought of jealousy. Your fear was something else, old wounds trying to bleed again.

(And maybe they'd never stopped.)

Love was the intense warmth acceptance she had no idea she was giving--that made your eyes well and have to blame on the sun--on top of the understanding that sometimes people were beautiful and turned even a committed person's head.

Love was the way she swept you off your feet into a dance, how she dipped you, smiled into your eyes, the dark depths of hers laughing, and how you blushed and swooned.

Love was how, once, during a cherry-knot-tying contest, she decided she didn't want to actually eat the cherry, and she thought the appropriate solution to this was to grab you by the front of your shirt and pull you (carefully, applying just the right amount of force) into a kiss. 

You found you had two cherries in your mouth when she leaned back, eyes half lidded, lips curved in the smuggest of smirks.

Love was how she loved taking your libido and kicking it straight through the roof and boy you fell for it every single time; how could you not?

Love was how you would pass by some trinket on the boardwalk and feel the intense urge to buy it for her, if only to see her joy for whatever thing you'd brought her.

Love was how she took you to the hot springs she'd never shared with anyone, not even Pearl (she declined to share the reason, and it wasn't your place to ask anyway) when you casually mentioned sometimes couples bathe together. How she noticed your fear and asked about it so kindly, so carefully. How she called you beautiful even after seeing you without clothes.

Nobody had ever called you beautiful before.

Love was her gentle guidance that first time. How she didn't mock you for being a virgin and having no idea what the hell to do. How she took you by the hand and showed you what to do and how she took such delight in blissing you right out of your mind.

Love was how you curled in her arms afterwards and you laid there and listened to the crickets and you thought never in your life had you felt so blissfully happy, and you looked up to ask her if you were good, if she'd liked it, if you'd made her just as happy, and she smiled that wonderfully soft, knee-melting smile at you and said you did.

And then how she blew a raspberry into your neck until you were breathlessly cackling.

Love was the next day, laying all over each other in the van, reading. A shared silence. A comfortable peace. A quiet contentment.

Love was tenderness and patience and warmth and safety. It was the big and the small and the messy and confusing. Acceptance and teaching and learning.

Love was so much more grand and so much more simple than you ever could have imagined, ever could have hoped for. It almost made all of the long, cold, miserable years mean something. At the very least, it made those years feel so far away. That was another life; that was Gregory DeMayo's life. Not Greg Universe's. 

Even the years with Marty meant something now. Sunk cost who? You may not have had a music career yet but you had love.

Gregory DeMayo didn't know love, didn't know gentle touches and soft voices; didn't know effort and patience and understanding being put into the other end of knowing someone. He didn't know ease, contentment; he didn't know what to exist without fear was. To exist with _happiness_ was. You did.

You adored every second of it. Every second of life. Every second of _her._

You couldn't wait for the rest of forever with her, and you knew that was love, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes I _do_ want to someday go over their first time in more detail but that time is not this time.
> 
> Enjoy this thing written exclusively on a phone because apparently writing on a phone at fuck o'clock in the morning is the only way I get any writing done these days.
> 
> _it wasn't even one of the wips I already have loaded on this site aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa why do I do this to myself_


End file.
